Assumptions
by leesungyeol
Summary: "Neither of them says anything after this, and it is then when they realize how terribly close they are, almost as if they are about to kiss – which is an insane assumption, since they are merely brothers. " WINCEST. WINCEEEST. rated T but idk?


**err, i had no idea what to rate this? okay well basically this took me like 5 weeks to write (wow writers block hits me hard ydek) and yes this is wincest and if you have a problem leave**

**if you review we can be best friends ok**

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><p>The brothers are sitting opposite one another, both silent and strangely uncomfortable within each other's presence. Dean has his right hand clutching his beer bottle far too tightly – so tight he was certain if he put more pressure the glass would crack. Sam has his laptop open, a search engine page open, but it is clear that he has no particular need for it. The younger is unwilling to touch his drink – Dean is consistent in glancing over at it, wondering as to why he had not even opened it.<p>

It is after at least five minutes of silence when Sam finally sighs, letting his fingers tap meaninglessly over the keys and saying, "Dean, we should probably talk –"

"What is there to discuss, Sam?" Dean's interruption is sharp, quick, blunt. Despite the fact that he is glad that Sam had spoken up – his words had been at loss as he attempted to break their fairly awkward silence – he is still angered at Sam's behaviour. Even after all this, all they had been through, he still is this forgiving? Hopeful, even? It makes Dean confused, perhaps slightly sacred; how could somebody be like that? His brother, of all people, the one who had suffered the most?

"Look, I just wanted you to know…"

"I don't want to hear it. How many times have you said sorry, when it isn't even your fault? Cas is dead, Bobby is dead, _Christ_, and I know you're still trying to stop yourself from seeing Lucifer all over the place, he's still digging through your sub-conscious, for goodness sake. So I don't want to talk to you, Sam."

Sam sighs, attempting to express his frustration very clearly to Dean. "So we just sit here in silence."

And that they do. Their eyes do everything to avoid one another, despite the fact that almost every part of their body is aching to stop this tension. It is strange that their feelings towards another were this way – and while it was so wrong, the two of them could not have felt more right. And it only seems to make more and more sense as they suffer and experience more pain in their lives – they had been bound together the moment Sam had been born, the moment their mother had been killed and their house destroyed by the flames by Azazel. It is true that Dean has kept the necklace that Sam had given to him that Christmas, finding it far too hard to bin it permanently. Sam does not know of this, and Dean has no intentions of mentioning this to him.

However his thoughts are immediately backfired as soon as Sam stands up, moving over to Dean's side and yanking off the necklace that sits discreetly around his neck, fast and hard. It takes all of Dean's might not to exclaim as the movement stung the back of his neck painfully. Sam is clutching the necklace tight in his hand, anger flashing in his eyes.

"I knew you kept it all this time." Sam states, his voice flat. "I'm not thick. And if you care for me in the slightest, you could at least show it."

Dean stands up, furious at his remark. "I sold my soul for you, and I still forgave you after you went off with that Ruby bitch. I fought with you to stop the apocalypse even though it was _your_ fault and I _still_ had to put up with your soulless crap! I love you, Sam, dammit I do, but you're so freakin' _selfish_!"

Neither of them says anything after this, and it is then when they realize how terribly close they are, almost as if they are about to kiss – which is an insane assumption, since they are merely brothers. Sam feels himself rock forward slightly, and he isn't entirely sue why; he stops himself quickly, but not quick enough. Dean's noticed, but he doesn't even bother to move backwards or make a remark. If anything, he moves closer to his little brother, making the situation only considerably worse.

"Dammit, Dean," Sam mutters after a long moment's pause, and backs away. As the younger runs a hand through his hair – it's grown far too long, Dean observes - Dean stops him by grabbing his younger brother's arm tightly, tugging at it hard so he could turn around to face him.

"I love you, Sammy." He says, thankful that his throat hadn't prevented him from saying those words.

"Of course you do, Dean, I'm your broth-"

"No, dammit," he mutters, before grabbing Sam's other arm, leaning up slightly and pressing his lips against his brother's.

The strangest thing about this was the fact that neither of them felt any remorse, shame or the urge to pull away at the deed. It feels almost _natural_, as if they have been building up to this moment their whole life. Both their lips were fairly cold – the temperature that night hadn't exactly been at its highest – but the fact that they had been pining after each other for _years_, and were finally making some sort of real _contact_, makes up for it.

It is true that the pair often think what it would be like for their bodies to be pressed up against one another's, and hardly in a metaphorical sense. And it is peculiar, that they know even _thinking_ about such a thing is wrong on so many levels – _he's your brother, for God's sake. That's incest you're thinking of, there._

But why should such a thing get in the way when you love him?

It only starts to get worse, however, when Dean feels a sudden urge to let his hand travel down Sam's body, slowly yet quickly enough for Sam to get the message. The younger is suddenly reluctant in what he is doing, and pulls away abruptly before Dean continues with his act.

"Er, Dean," he says, a little nervously. "This is… a really bad idea…"

There is a pause before Dean remarks. His brother's words are ringing through his head, and he knows they're right, of course they're damn right, but he can't seem to find the strength to agree with him. He hasn't the slightest clue what has gotten in to him, but he realizes there's only one thing he wants at this point in time.

And that's Sam.

Dean steps forward again, letting his fingers run over Sam's checkered shirt, tempted to pull out each neatly done button one-by-one. "Just this once?"

Sam, this time, doesn't even bother trying to pull away. In fact, he's enjoying what Dean's doing, and as soon as his fingertip touches his skin he shivers in delight. Despite this, he still says, "And what? Once will turn into twice? And then we won't stop?"

"Please," the elder mutters softly.

It carries on like this for another two whole minutes before Sam finally gives in. After all, that's what brothers do – right?


End file.
